The Air is so mild, though windy, that I can even sit abroad in the Sunshine. I scarce dare ask about Donne; neither you, nor Mowbray—I dare say I shall hear from the latter before Christmas. What you wrote convinced me there was no use in going up only to see him—or little else—so painful to oneself and so little cheering to him! I do think that he is best among his own.
But I do not forget him—‘No!’—as the Spaniards say. Nor you, dear Mrs. Kemble, being your ancient Friend (with a new name) Littlegrange!
What would you say of the Œdipus, not of Sophocles, but of Dryden and Nat Lee, in which your uncle acted!
P.S. You did not mention anything about your Family, so I conclude that all is well with them, both in England and America.
I wish you would just remember me to Mr. H. Aïdé, who was very courteous to me when I met him in your room.
This extra Paper is, you see, to serve instead of crossing my Letter.
XCVIII. [230]
[Feb. 1882.]
My dear Mrs. Kemble:
This week I was to have been in London—for the purpose of seeing—or offering to see—our dear Donne. For, when they told him of my offer, he said he should indeed like it much—‘if he were well enough.’ Anyhow, I can but try, only making him previously understand that he is not to make any effort in the case. He is, they tell me, pleased with any such mark of remembrance and regard from his old Friends. And I should have offered to go before now, had I not judged from your last account of him that he was better left with his Family, for his own sake, as well [as] for that of his Friends. However, as I said, I should have gone up on Trial even now, but that I have myself been, and am yet, suffering with some sort of Cold (I think, from some indications, Bronchial) which would ill enable me to be of any use if I got to London. I can’t get warm, in spite of Fires, and closed doors, so must wait, at any rate, to see what another week will do for me.